Inspired
by AnneCaterina
Summary: Stacy is a hopeless optimist with an impossible dream. A chance encounter with a tall, dark man changes her life forever.


Stacey was already looking forward to the wonderful, weird, beautiful, rude, altogether _fascinating_ people she would meet today. This was London, after all. Even in a run-of-the-mill big-chain clothing shop like this you got all sorts.

When she freed her hair from underneath the lanyard she had just slid over her head, she caught a glimpse of her blue tips. Lifting a strain of hair, she examined the dye-job, her brow furrowed. _All that bleaching has really dried out my tips. And the colour is already so faint again!_ With a sigh, she tossed her otherwise dark brown hair back over her shoulder and walked towards the door that led to the shop. Lynn, her colleague, who was decidedly too old and too prejudiced to work here, had already turned on all the lights. Stacey strolled past the racks and tables of clothes, straightening out a folded sweater here, sorting some jackets by size there.

"Good morning Lynnnnnn!" she twittered when she arrived at the till. Lynn, who was presenting her bony backside at the moment, grunted and extracted her head from underneath the counter.

"Stop screaming like that. I haven't had coffee yet."

"Should I unlock the doors?" Stacey was positively bouncing.

"It's still two minutes."

"But there's someone standing outside already!"

Lynn peered towards the double glass doors. "Great, what better way to start the day than with some nutjob customer," she mumbled.

"I'll open the doors and take care of her, you get your coffee." Stacey took the keys off a hook underneath the counter and jogged towards the entrance. A few paces away from it she jumped and skidded the remaining yard or two on the polished stone floor. She had miscalculated the distance and almost crashed into the glass. She just managed to break her speed by putting her hands on the door. The key in her right hand made a loud clicking noise against the glass, making the girl who waited in front of the shop jump. She turned and stared at Stacey, who was just pushing herself away from the door. She gave the girl a sheepish grin and knelt down to unlock the doors. The girl entered as Stacey pulled them open.

"Heyyyy," Stacey greeted her first customer of the day. "Let me guess, you are looking for… some trousers!" She pointed both her forefingers at the girl as she gave her a questioning look. The girl scowled at Stacey through a pair of large spectacles with no lenses in them.

"No?" the girl said, knitting her thick, dark eyebrows together.

"Okay, cool! Just let me know if you need me."

The girl turned and walked into the shop without another word. Stacey looked after her. _She must be freezing,_ Stacey thought, for the girl wore nothing but a white men's button-down and a pair of sheer dark brown tights. No trousers, not even shorts. The densely-knit part of the tights ended a few inches below the hem of the shirt. Stacey was absolutely thrilled. Such an intriguing person as first customer of the morning! Today must be Stacey's lucky day.

"She will definitely steal something," Lynn said darkly, as Stacey skipped back to the till.

"Oh Lynn, don't be so pessimistic! She's probably an artist and her latest project deals with the coldness of the city – both temperature-wise and socially! And she's immersing herself in her art. It's a statement! Ooooh, I wish I could ask her about it. Should I ask her about it?" Stacey craned her neck to get a look at the girl, who was trying on hats.

"You're crazy," Lynn stated.

Stacey shook her head. "How can you not be fascinated by the people here? This is London. London! I envy you so much! I wish I'd grown up here. Maybe then I'd also have such an artistic, sophisticated style."

"Sophisticated!" Lynn snorted. "Isn't that hair of yours artistic enough?"

"Nah, it looks more grey than anything," Stacey said, her face falling. "Anyway, I'll go upstairs, see if anything needs straightening out!"

She took the escalator, but was too impatient to wait for it to deliver her to the men's department, so she walked up, taking two steps at a time.

She did not have to wait long for the next customers. The escalator revealed two men. The taller one's head and shoulder-length black hair came into view first. Stacey positioned herself close to the escalator's exit, so she could offer her assistance. The tall man did not return her excited grin, or even her gaze. A shorter, broad-shouldered man stepped off the escalator behind him and, to Stacey's immense delight, made a beeline for her.

He gave the impression of being some kind of monk, although Stacey could not pinpoint why she thought that. The puffy winter jacket he wore certainly did not suggest "monk". Maybe it was his bald head. Or his expression of utter kindness and serenity as he said, "We're looking for a jacket for my friend." He gestured at the black-haired man. Stacey beamed at the tall man. He held his head slightly inclined so that his lank black hair fell forward and framed his face like two curtains. He had the most magnificent nose Stacey had ever seen. His pale complexion and thin frame suggested that he didn't get outside much and didn't care much about sustaining himself, either. Stacey had the most wonderful idea that he might some kind of genius who brooded about a cure for cancer or some super-advanced machine in his secret nerdy hideout all day. He was wearing a shabby, beige jacket much too thin for this kind of weather. Stacey agreed that he needed a new one asap. Plus, that colour looked dreadful on him. She gave the tall man an expert glance to gauge his size. At that moment, he briefly looked directly into Stacey's eyes. It must have been just a fraction of a second, but that look from him let a wave of goose bumps ripple over her back. She caught her breath. _There's more to you than meets the eye, my friend!_ Her heart started beating faster. She had to do her utmost not to blurt out, "Who are you? What do you do? Do you want to get coffee and tell me all about you?"

Instead, she just widened her smile again and said, "Our jackets are over here." She led them to one of the racks holding the same kind of puffy jackets the monk guy was wearing.

"Not those!" the tall man said with something akin to disgust. Stacey loved him more every second. Truth be told, Stacey did not like the kind of clothes they sold here. She loved fashion. _Real_ fashion. She had come to London to fulfil her dream of becoming a designer. But she had absolutely no credentials except her portfolio of hand-drawn designs. And that had turned out to be way, way too little to get into any kind of fashion school or to even land the most insignificant of jobs with a designer. They wouldn't even take her on if she told them she'd work for free. They got a dozen people every day who desperately wanted to work for free. And, apparently, they wouldn't go for the girl whose eyes bulged with excitement as she jumped up from her chair, leaned over the table and almost happy-screamed at the interviewer because she knew no other way to express her all-consuming passion for fashion.

So, Stacey had decided to work her way up from fashion shop to fashion shop. She'd go more and more exclusive until she got to the flagship store of a designer brand. And then she'd dazzle them enough to get a job behind the scenes. She knew she could do it. She'd go from rags to riches in no time!

Although, the customers in designer shops might be less diverse and interesting than they were here. People's life stories were what inspired Stacey's designs. And this man right here, who seemed so withdrawn, but whose gaze held such power, such fierceness, must have been the most intriguing person Stacey had ever come across. She knew exactly the kind of jacket she would design for him. Simple, but dapper, with a hint of Nineteenth Century. And the deepest, purest black she could find. Everything about him suggested darkness. He was a person to remain hidden. But once he came forth from the dark, he'd do so with unimaginable strength. How painful to have to present him with the meagre assortment of off-the-peg coats they had here!

She beamed at him, saying, "Finally, a skinny guy who doesn't subscribe to the whole hipster thing!" He agreed with her readily. He also seemed to be fed up with that stuff. "I know, right!" Stacey said, giving him a look of exasperated understanding.

She hurried over to the only coats she found halfway suitable for him. Black had stopped being a thing in fashion, so the best she could do for him was grey. She browsed through the coats on the rack until she found his size. "Try this." She held the coat out to him. He took it hesitatingly, giving Stacey another short glance that almost made her gasp. "There's a mirror over there." He went to the appointed mirror and put on the coat. He seemed uncomfortable. Stacey tore her eyes away from him.

"Do you have this in black?" he asked.

Stacey wrung her hands and bit her tongue not to fall onto her knees before him and beg him to let her design something perfect for him. She managed to hold on to herself, although she felt her face contort with the effort. "Only in blue and red." Fancy struck her and she looked at the ceiling and shook her fist theatrically, exclaiming, "Damn you, hipsters!"

The two men looked at her a little funny. All she could do was laugh and throw up her hands.

"I'll take this," the tall man said.

"Phew!" Stacey said loudly. "Let me send it to the till for you. All you need to do is go down and my colleague will ring you up. Is there anything else I can do for you?" She was bouncing on her toes, thinking, _please, please, please…_

"No, but thank you for your very pleasant assistance," the monk said.

"Alright, you two have a lovely day!" Stacey waved, and then stood on tiptoe to watch them – scratch that, watch _him_ until he had left the shop.

Stacey spent the rest of the day in a daze, thinking about the tall, black-haired man with the fantastic nose. This was it. He was her muse. She knew that she would probably never see him again. That was the downside of the big city. All the wonderful people she met she was only allowed to glimpse briefly. Then each of them, they and her, moved on to the next shop, the next customer. But he was different. Even though she couldn't ask him about himself, would never know where this fierceness behind his gaze came from, the inspiration he had given her would stay with her.

The moment she sat down in the tube, she took her sketchbook out of her rucksack and began drawing frantically. Straight lines, buttons, a collar, details on the pockets. No, not good enough. Next page. More buttons, a higher collar, less details on the pockets. Still not right. She kept sketching the whole ride, and when she got out of the tube, her feet carried her through the tunnels and to the escalators of their own accord. Her eyes, her mind, were engrossed in her sketchbook.

It took her weeks to work out something she was satisfied with. But one day, finally, she put her pens down. She'd done it. She could hardly believe that _she_ had designed this. It was perfect. But it was only a coat. He needed more. He needed a full wardrobe. Trousers. A waistcoat. A jacket. And, get this: a _white_ shirt! Now that she knew what she was looking for, the rest of the designs flowed from her brain out of her hands onto the pages.

She didn't have the money to buy the kind of exclusive fabric she would need to actually make the clothes. _Only the very best for him_. But she did have just enough to have her designs printed on posters. She glued them onto slabs of cardboard.

The next morning, she came into the shop early, long before her colleagues. With some fishing wire and a staple gun, she hung her enlarged drawings in the shop windows, somewhat discreetly set back from the mannequins. Headquarters would not be happy. But Stacey was bursting with pride and awe before her own work. She had to tell the world about it. At least that little part of the world that walked up and down the high street in not-quite-but-close-enough central London.

Three days went past. Some of Stacey's colleagues had asked about the posters. Stacey had been physically jumping up and down with excitement when she told them the designs were hers. But the most elaborate response she got was "Why does the model have such a horrible nose?"

On a Monday morning, six weeks after the tall, dark man had bought his jacket and about two weeks after Stacey had put up her designs, she slouched into the shop, irritably pulling her hair out from under her lanyard. "Hey," she muttered to Lynn. Lynn held out the keys. Stacey groaned, "Can you do this today, please?" Lynn raised an eyebrow but said nothing as she turned and walked to the front of the shop to unlock the doors. Stacey looked after her, her gaze travelling from the back of her colleague to the backs of the cardboard slabs that held her posters. Lynn was coming back. No customer had been waiting in front of the door today. Stacey made a decision.

She went to the storage room and, with a lot of effort, jostled the aluminium extendable ladder off its wall hooks. She carried it out of the room and to the shop windows, careful not to bang into anything. With a screwdriver, she pried the staples out of the ceiling panels and let her posters fall to the ground.

"About time!" Lynn said when Stacey marched past her. "Maybe you should start adjusting your wild fashion dreams to the reality of life, dear." Stacey didn't look at her. She just shoved the posters into the back of the low wardrobe where they usually held clothes for customers. "Oh great," Lynn said while Stacey was still making sure the posters were all but invisible. "There's one for you."

Stacey looked up. An elderly man had entered the shop. He wore both his grey hair and beard in long dreadlocks, but was clothed in a very tidy pinstriped suit. Stacey sighed heavily and went to offer her assistance. She was sure he had his reasons for wearing his hair like that, or for dressing the way he did. But the curiosity that had always fuelled her now caused her pain. She pushed it back in her mind, just like she had pushed back the posters in the wardrobe behind the till.

She had let herself be carried away by her insatiable interest for people. So far away, in fact, that she had blown all her creativity, all her dreams and ambitions on one design for one single person. _I don't care. It was worth it._No one could ever surpass that wonderful, fantastic man.

"Where are the posters?" a sharp voice asked by the till. Stacey turned back to see who was speaking. The voice belonged to a very small lady, who nonetheless had Lynn look alarmed and taken aback. "My colleague…" Lynn managed to say, while helplessly looking over at Stacey. The small lady turned to Stacey, her eyes wide like those of a predator who has spotted her prey. "You!" the lady barked. "Where did you put them?"

Stacey stared at the lady, realization gnawing its way through her mind. "Gigi… V-Vandermeulen?" she stuttered. The lady sized her up with look of exasperation.

"Yes," she said, impatiently. "And speak up, will you?"

"Yes, ma'am." Stacey stood up straight. She felt, for a second, that she was behaving ridiculously. Like a soldier before his superior. Something scratched at the surface of her conscience from beneath, like a playful kitten pawing at a mouse on a string. Stacey couldn't hold it back. The corners of her mouth started twitching. The layer of gloom that had build up over the past weeks cracked open and something that felt like rainbow-coloured cotton candy burst from the crack and filled Stacey's brain. Her body trembled. Finally, she gave up on her restraint and started jumping up and down, making Gigi Vandermeulen take an alarmed step back and stare at Stacey, eyes wide. Stacey let out a delighted squeal and pressed her knuckles to her lips. "I'll get the posters!" she exclaimed in a high-pitched voice. She ran to the till, almost tripping over her own feet, ripped open the door of the low wardrobe and pulled out the cardboard slabs.

Gigi Vandermeulen did nothing just for fun, that much Stacey knew from the countless articles she had read about the legendary designer. Gigi would never waste her time on anything that she didn't consider worthwhile. Therefore, her asking for Stacey's posters could only mean that she considered them worth her while. Stacey rushed back to where Miss Vandermeulen stood and held the posters out to her. Miss Vandermeulen gave Stacey, who was bouncing on her toes, a stern look as she took the designs. She leafed through them with raised eyebrows. "Not entirely dreadful," she said after a short moment, handing Stacey back her posters.

From Gigi Vandermeulen, that was high praise. The designer handed Stacey a white business card, the name "Gigi Vandermeulen engraved on it in silver letters.

"Be there tomorrow morning at 7:30 sharp. I can't pay you, of course, so I'm afraid you'll have to keep working in this shithole. But I can teach you. From now on, …"

"Stacey," Stacey prompted. Miss Vandermeulen gave her an incredulous look, then sighed "… _Stacey_, sleep is optional. You will live and breathe fashion. If I'm displeased with you, you will find yourself back to where you started in no time at all."

"Yes, Miss Vandermeulen! Thank you, Miss Vandermeulen!" Stacey squealed. "Tomorrow at 7:30. Sharp! I'll be there!" she shouted after the designer who had already left the shop. Stacey read the back of the card, pounding the address into her brain. "Oh my goooood!" she squealed, skipped over to Lynn and hugged her while jumping up and down.

Lynn staid rooted to the spot and said dryly, "Congratulations, you're some fashion dictator's slave now. You did hear her say that you wouldn't be sleeping anymore, right?"

"Lynn, don't you understand? This is it, this is my big break! Oh, I can't _wait_ for tomorrow morning!

"We are here with Stacey Gibson, one of the up-and-coming designers this season. Stacey, could you tell us what inspires your fashion?"

Stacey pulled the microphone towards herself. "All those wonderful, fascinating people of London!" she said, beaming. "I love you guys!" she screamed into the microphone as an afterthought.

"Right," the interviewer said, laughing uncomfortably. "I hope you don't mind me saying this, but your sober, straightforward designs seem a little at odds with your very… lively personality. Could you talk about that?

Stacy laughed. "You know, when I was younger, I always drew designs that were really colourful and had glittery details or something like that. But one day, I met this truly stunning man. He was so… dark, if you know what I mean. Black hair, black eyes. And this _look_ that he gave me… It just went through and through. And I was so inspired by him that I spent the next month designing the perfect outfit for him. I actually hung up my designs in the windows of the shop I was working at at the time. And, well, Gigi Vandermeulen saw them, and the rest is history!"

"Wow, sounds like an intense encounter! Did your mystery man appreciate this outfit that you designed exclusively for him?"

"Well, that's the thing. I never saw him again. And I never even made the clothes. It didn't feel right to tailor them to someone else, let alone a mannequin. But those designs have informed my style ever since."

"What a wonderful story, Stacey! Thank you very much for the interview and enjoy the rest of Fashion Week!"


End file.
